


there's a menace in my bed (can you see his silhouette?)

by constantly_disoriented



Category: Original Work
Genre: Body Horror, F/M, Implied Graphic Violence, Space AU, i mixed a hint of faerie lore in bc im a slut for that shit, kinda? i guess? it's not too bad but i'll tag just in case, mentioned death, some depictions of graphic violence, space demon au?, this is an au of my ocs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 15:14:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15866211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/constantly_disoriented/pseuds/constantly_disoriented
Summary: He should not trust a creature like her. He hasheardof creatures like her — on his home planet, in dark nights when Father would warn him of the dangers of these outer circles, of these swirling masses of gas and thick rings of asteroids. In them, told Father, dwelled creatures made of stardust and plasma, of magic and evil, who harness the energies of the universe itself — black holes, star cores, spacetime and all — to destroy and disrupt and break everything in their paths.Straddlers of death, he had called them.Wardens of the Crossroad.Or, strange things dwell in these parts of space, and Byron should have the sense to avoid them. (Spoiler alert: he doesn't.)





	there's a menace in my bed (can you see his silhouette?)

**Author's Note:**

> hi i dont write fanfiction as much as i used to so i guess im posting original work now  
> this is an au of an original universe i've been working on for a long time. the boi is Byron and here he's a human. the girl is Gwen and here she's a space demon (i think? yeah we're going with space demon). the person who dies is irrelevant we're ignoring that  
> hope you enjoy!

A sharp eyed girl with silver in her palms and black, sparkling blood in her teeth smiles at Byron, and the earth beneath his feet quakes with it. Beneath graying-golden skin lies sharp lines of ink and onyx, stark and bulging from her as if the liquid begs for release, like this skin she wears is merely a suit for a beast. She speaks with a voice like thunder, low and timberous and absolutely terrifying.

“Out of my way, human,” she demands of him, and he finds himself rooted to the spot, his body paralyzed, frozen in time by the glittering bloodthirst in her eyes and the crackling lightning in her fingertips. He does not move —  _ cannot move _ — and her smile widens far too much to even imitate a human grin, baring two sharp rows of black-spotted teeth and a pointed, slithering tongue. “Now, don’t make me repeat myself, boy.”

Byron’s feet move of their own accord, so quickly and desperately he’s not quite sure, for a moment, if it was him moving at all. He dives out of the way, takes shelter behind a nearby red-toned-blood-spattered rock, and covers his ears, closes his eyes just in case —

There is a screech of noise and a visceral, gut-wrenching noise like ripping flesh and cracking bone, a singular, endless, blood-curdling scream (it drags through the air like skin on asphalt, like windsheer on silk, like teeth grinding metal) and silence.

Wisely, Byron does not move. After a moment, muffled footsteps come slowly toward the rock he’s hiding behind. He is shaking, he knows, his limbs trembling with fear and adrenaline and a searing urge to  _ runrunrun _ —

“It’s alright, now.” A voice says. Byron startles slightly, looks up to see a woman who barely resembles the ungodly creature he’d faced only a moment before. Gone are the black veins and sharp teeth and voice made from hurricane winds — in its place stands a woman, unassuming and beautiful, with pretty strawberry-gold hair and warm brown eyes.

He says nothing, his mouth opening and shutting like a fish gasping for breath. Her smile does not scream warning-signs-danger-zone-poisonous-creature, now. The only messages he can decipher are reassuring certainty, soothing calm, warming comfort. When he does not answer, her smile widens — a fraction of what it was before, baring pearly, straight teeth, albeit still stained with glimmering shadows. 

“It’s alright,” she repeats, extends a hand to him. Her palms, too, have changed; they are the same sunlight-honey color as the rest of her, sporting no silver and no lightning. “I’m not going to hurt you. It’s safe, now. I promise.”

He should not trust a creature like her. He has  _ heard _ of creatures like her — on his home planet, in dark nights when Father would warn him of the dangers of these outer circles, of these swirling masses of gas and thick rings of asteroids. In them, told Father, dwelled creatures made of stardust and plasma, of magic and evil, who harness the energies of the universe itself — black holes, star cores, spacetime and all — to destroy and disrupt and  _ break _ everything in their paths.  _ Straddlers of death _ , he had called them.  _ Wardens of the Crossroad _ .

Byron knows not why he reaches up a wavering hand, places his palm in hers. It makes her face soften to something sickeningly sweet and warm like fire. She pulls him to his feet, and his eyes stray automatically to look at the destruction she’d incurred —

Or, he tries. He catches a mere glimpse of a ground littered with speckled blue and deformed features when her palm (warm and beat-beat-beating  _ alive _ ) catches his cheek gently, guides his face back to look at her. “No, no — don’t pay that any mind. Why don’t you tell me your name, handsome?”

Byron pretends his stomach does not roll at the thought of the horrors she’s hidden from his eyes, and focuses his gaze upon her. Her smile is encouraging, her eyes intent, and he forgets the tales Mother told him of when he was little, of fae who asked so sweetly for a  _ name _ and then from their bearers stole their mortal souls. “Byron, Prince of Agrye. And yours?”

“Byron, Prince of Agrye.” She repeats, soft and sure. The words roll on her tongue like milk tea and warm pastries, and Byron fights the urge to ask that she say his name, again, in that sugar-sweet voice. “I’m afraid your human mouth would not well enough pronounce my name.”

“Teach me, then. I will try,” he tells her automatically, half-habit, half-challenge, and she blinks her eyes (they remind him of the soils upon his earthen land; far warmer, more fertile than the vast empty black of space) up at him. He has shocked her, but only for a moment, and then her mouth opens. From it rumbles something that sends tingles down his spine, melodic and beautiful and more complex than quantum physics and ship mechanics and the anatomical biology of the most frightening creatures on his planet.

“Now, you try,” she commands, her eyes dancing in bespoken amusement. Byron clears his throat, and does as told. His tongue marrs the word, turns it strange and warped and screeching. She hesitates a moment as he tries his best, and then bursts into abrupt laughter.

And,  _ oh _ , what a noise it is. High and tinkling, low and vast, bells and bones and stars and stones. 

“That was — oh, a  _ valiant _ effort,” she tells him, rests her palm on the upper part of his forearm, and from the skin beneath her fingers rises goosebumps, sharp and aching. “I like you, Byron, Prince of Agrye. You may call me Gwen.”

“Gwen,” Byron says, swallows thickly, recuperating still from the deep throb in the center of his chest, remnants of an emptiness left in the wake of her giggling, as if she has taken a knife and scooped out his sternum. 

Amazing, how a creature made of nightmare and dust and voltage turns into a temptress of a woman in mere moments. 

“That is satisfactory,” she nods, grinning her pleasure at him. It takes all of his will not to let it punch the air from his lungs. She slips her arm in his, the crook of her elbow warm beside his, and smiles brightly. Despite the glitter in her gums and the emptiness in her cheeks, it warms his chest. “Come along. I think I’ll keep you.”

And he, like the fool he is, will gladly let her. 

**Author's Note:**

> hello if you've survived this long enough to read this note thank you for reading and i hope you have a nice day!  
> tell me if you'd be interested in reading more of these dorks! or if you wouldnt be interested go ahead and roast me!


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